Vi Agra Falls

by Mary Daheim

“I hate to see her go,” Naomi said with feeling. “Mrs. Swanson was like an anchor in this neighborhood, always the calm in the eye of any storm. I’ll certainly miss seeing her working in the garden across the cul-de-sac.”

  “I know,” Judith agreed. “I see you got the Busses’ invitation.”

  “Yes.” Naomi looked at Joe. “I realize that you were married to her, but I’ll be blunt. Hamish and I are concerned about what she and that muscle-bound husband of hers are up to.” She waved the invitation. “Is there going to be some kind of dreadful announcement that comes along with the free food and drink?”

  “It’s possible,” Joe admitted in his mellow voice. “Judith figures they’re going to add on to their own house.”

  Naomi frowned. “That could be a nuisance, especially for your B&B. I wonder if they’ll move out while the construction is under way.”

  “That’d be the only good part,” Judith murmured.

  “True,” Naomi agreed. “I’m not crazy about the kind of people that show up there at all hours, either.”

  Judith stared at Naomi. “Such as…who? When?”

  “Ham was up late last night unpacking and getting organized for work today,” Naomi explained. “About one in the morning, a car pulled up in front of the Buss house. Nobody got out right away, and the house was dark. Ham wondered if someone was…you know, casing the joint, as they say. Finally a man got out and walked all around the house. The lights never went on as far as Ham could see, and after a few minutes the man came back and drove away. It seemed odd. Ham thought about calling the police, but he decided against it. He didn’t get a good look at the car or the driver, let alone the license plates.”

  “Could Ham describe the man?” Judith asked.

  Naomi frowned. “Not really. Medium height, probably older, ordinary clothes, some kind of cap. Ham said it was a sedan, dark color, probably. I hate to say it, but that house has been bad luck for years.”

  Joe held up his hands. “Hold it. No offense, Naomi, but you and Rochelle and Arlene and,” he added, glancing at Judith, “my wife are all looking for trouble where there may not be any. Is this some kind of guilt trip on me for having made a big mistake thirty-odd years ago in marrying the wrong woman?”

  Naomi looked embarrassed. Judith, however, was annoyed. “You don’t need to defend yourself, Joe,” she declared. “Or to defend Herself.”

  Naomi bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” She looked away from both Flynns. “Jeanne Ericson feels the same way.”

  “Women,” Joe muttered. “I’m going upstairs to change.”

  As he went through the hall to the back stairs, Naomi heaved a heavy sigh. “I had no intention of upsetting your husband, Judith.”

  “I know,” Judith responded kindly. “But Joe does feel guilty. He somehow feels responsible for Vivian. Or Vi, as she wants to be called these days. Don’t you remember when he got her to join AA, but she flunked out? He even went to meetings with her.”

  “Yes, I do.” Naomi put a hand on Judith’s arm. “I’d better go before I make an utter fool of myself. It might turn out to be a lovely neighborhood party. I hope,” she added softly, “it’s kosher.”

  “I do, too,” Judith agreed. “In every way.”

  Are you nuts?” Renie demanded a couple of days later when she stopped at the B&B to drop off a couple of hard-boiled detective novels Bill was passing on to Joe. “Why would we come to your neighborhood get-together Monday? We have our own. I’m bringing fried chickens.”

  “Chickens? How many?” Judith asked, wiping perspiration off of her forehead.

  “Three,” Renie replied. “Everybody laps up those fryers since I finally learned how to cook them right after forty years of marriage. How come Carl and Arlene Rankers aren’t doing their usual thing?”

  “They are,” Judith replied, sitting down at the kitchen table, across from Renie. “They’d already made arrangements with the city to hold their annual Block Watch party. So we’ll end up with two shindigs going on at the same time in the cul-de-sac. Arlene asked Herself to change their event, but she refused. It should be quite a mob, since all the Dooleys will be coming, too.”

  “How many at this point?” Renie inquired, referring to the large family that lived in back of the Flynn and Ericson properties.

  “I’ve lost track,” Judith admitted. “With so many children and grandchildren and various others relatives in and out, I just know a Dooley when I see one. They all kind of look alike.”

  “Nice people, though,” Renie remarked, lifting the lid on Judith’s sheep-shaped cookie jar. “Hey, Coz, this thing’s empty!”

  “I don’t bake in this heat,” Judith said. “I won’t turn on the oven.”

  Renie looked forlorn. “Store-bought is fine with me.”

  “None here.” Judith slumped in the chair. “I hate summer.”

  “Me, too,” Renie agreed. “Worst season of the year. Bring on the rain.” She sipped from the Pepsi Judith had given her. “I’m going to dread seeing our water bill. I can’t not try to keep all of our flowers and shrubs and trees from dying of thirst. In the long run, it’d cost more money to—” She stopped and reached into her enormous purse, which was on the vacant chair next to her. “I almost forgot. Your mailman must be suffering from heat exhaustion with all our steep hills. He dropped these in your driveway.” She handed over the latest issues of Country Life, National Geographic, and Architectural Digest, along with a couple of ads, the cable bill, and two letters.

  Judith scanned the stack of mail. “Architectural Digest belongs to Ted Ericson. We’ve had a sub on the route the past week or so. Cecil’s on vacation.” She tossed the ads aside and looked at the first letter. “It’s a thank-you, I think, from that nice South Dakota couple who stayed here last month. I’ll read it later.” The other letter brought a scowl to her face. “This is addressed to J. C. Agra at Herself’s address. Damn. I suppose I’ll have to take it over there.”

  “Her last name isn’t Agra,” Renie pointed out.

  Judith shrugged. “I know, but the letter’s intended for that address. Maybe Billy has an alias.”

  “That sounds right,” Renie said, and yawned. “This heat also makes me sleepy. I should finish up my errands before I nod off.” She stared at Judith. “What is it? You look weird.”

  “That name—Agra. Somebody else in the cul-de-sac got a letter for a person by that name. It was also misdelivered.”

  Renie took a last swig of Pepsi and stood up. “Who knows? Every so often we get a religious newsletter for a family who lived in our house fifty years ago. Last week I got something in the mail for my dad, and he’s been dead for thirty years. They wanted to sell him life insurance. I almost signed up, figuring maybe I could cash in by waiting a couple of months and sending them his death certificate.”

  “You’d actually do that,” Judith murmured.

  “But I didn’t,” Renie said, not without regret. “See you Sunday for Joe and Mike’s birthdays.”

  In previous years, Judith often hosted a small party for her husband and son, who shared the same birthday. Usually she invited some of Joe’s former police coworkers, a few of Mike’s current colleagues, and various family members and friends. But on this eighth day of August, Mike was turning forty. It didn’t seem possible to Judith. Where had all the years gone? It seemed like only yesterday that she was pushing his stroller along the ill-maintained sidewalks by the McMonigles’ seedy rental in the city’s south end. Or kissing him good-bye before she headed for work at the local library. She’d been an often-absent mother, working two jobs, and forced to leave most of the routine parenting to the frequently unemployed Dan McMonigle. Judith had always acknowledged Dan as a decent father—despite the fact that he knew Mike wasn’t his son. Ironic, of course, because Joe didn’t know Judith had borne him a child until he showed up as the primary detective in a murder that had occurred at Hillside Manor. Even after Judith and Joe had finally married, it had tak
en her a long time to work up the courage to tell Mike. More irony there, Judith recalled. Her son had figured out his biological identity long before she revealed the truth.

  Paternity issues aside, Mike was traumatized by the thought of turning forty. He’d get over it, his parents agreed, if only because he had no choice. When he’d told her he didn’t want to make a big deal out of reaching the threshold of middle age, she was bemused as well as relieved. Joe had stepped in, pointing out that the relentlessly hot, dry weather was taking its toll on Judith, and suggested an intimate buffet supper with their son’s family, Gertrude, and the Joneses. Neither Judith nor Mike protested. In addition to Mike’s confrontation with growing older and the debilitating heat wave, it was never easy for Judith to juggle private parties as well as full occupancy at the B&B.

  “That was great,” Joe declared Sunday night after the last present had been unwrapped, the remains of the ice cream had been devoured by the two grandsons, the small chunk of leftover cake had been sent home with Mike and Kristin, and the attendees had gone. Caitlin’s gift to her father was a handsome wool sweater made in Switzerland. Joe’s brothers, who lived in far-flung places around the world, had chipped in to buy their sibling what appeared to be a complete DVD collection of John Wayne’s movies, from Westerns to WWII and several in between. Judith and Joe had presented Mike with a check for two thousand dollars, to be spent on a getaway with Kristin to Hawaii.

  “Thanks again for the sport coat,” Joe said to his wife. “It’s a really nifty color of green.”

  “I tried to match your eyes,” Judith said, smiling.

  Joe leaned to kiss her, but was interrupted by a knock at the back door. “Who’s that? Did some of our gang forget something?”

  “I don’t think so,” Judith said, glancing at the schoolhouse clock as Joe started down the hall to open the door. “It’s not quite ten, so the front door is still unlocked for guests.”

  “Happy birthday, baby!” Vivian shouted. “Here’s a little something to celebrate with on your special day!”

  Judith stayed put, but could see Herself handing over what looked like a big bottle wrapped in gold foil.

  “Thanks, Vivian,” Joe said, not quite able to keep the surprise out of his voice.

  “Go ahead, unwrap it,” his ex urged, swaying slightly on the threshold. “Judith! Come see what I got for Joe!”

  Reluctantly, Judith joined Joe and his former spouse in the narrow hallway. As he removed the gold foil, a magnum of Dom Perignon 1998 was exposed. “Wow,” Joe said softly. “This is really nice of you…Vi.”

  She lurched forward and kissed him soundly on the lips. “You deserve it, doll face! Drink it up at your party today!”

  “Today?” Judith said, puzzled.

  “I meant to bring it yesterday,” Vivian explained, leaning against Joe, “but I didn’t have time. So I woke up early this morning, and here I am. I know, I’m usually one for sleeping in. I can’t believe it’s not even ten o’clock!”

  “Ah…,” Joe began, gently trying to move away from Herself. “It’s ten o’clock at night.”

  Vivian looked startled. “It is? Hunh.” She stumbled a bit as she turned to look outside. “No wonder it’s so dark. I just thought it was one of those typical gloomy days in this part of the world.”

  “Be careful going home,” Judith said, starting to close the door.

  “Home.” Herself looked blank. “Oh, yes, home.” She giggled. “Show me the way to go…” Singing softly, she managed to go down the stairs and turn in the direction of the driveway.

  “Good Lord,” Judith murmured, locking the door. “I hope she’s relatively sober for her party tomorrow night.”

  Joe was admiring the magnum of champagne. “I’ll bet this bottle of bubbly cost at least five bills.”

  “Are you impressed?” Judith’s tone was caustic.

  “What?” Joe looked up from reading the label. “Well…it was thoughtful.”

  “I suppose,” Judith mumbled. She went back into the kitchen to empty the dishwasher.

  “I gather,” Joe said wryly as he set the magnum on the counter, “you don’t want to pop the top and have a toast?”

  “The only thing I’d like to toast right now is Herself,” Judith retorted. “It’s been a long day. I’m tired. I’m too pooped to pop. Anything,” she added, darting her husband a pointed glance.

  “You’re being petty,” Joe said, forced to raise his voice over the clatter of plates that his wife was stacking in the cupboard. “You don’t have anything to be jealous about.”

  Face frozen, Judith clamped her mouth shut. Joe regarded her with reproachful eyes. “Okay,” she finally admitted, “that’s probably true. But I still don’t like having Vivian around here all the time. I always sense trouble in the making.”

  “Come on, get real,” Joe said, exasperated. “I keep trying to tell you, stop fussing. Don’t look for trouble.”

  Judith grimaced. “I’ll try not to.”

  Joe’s expression softened. “Try harder,” he said, putting an arm around her waist.

  Looking into those magic green eyes, Judith managed a small smile. “Okay. I will. I’ll think of positive things, like”—her smile grew wider—“you.”

  But as they went upstairs to the third floor family quarters, Judith could have sworn she heard footsteps. Not real, not audible, not visible, but something tangible, as if trouble lurked in the shadows.

  5

  Should I get all gussied up?” Gertrude asked Judith late Monday afternoon. “Where’s my good dress? Did you find my rouge?”

  “Your good dress,” Judith said patiently, “is wool. It’s ninety-three degrees outside. Why don’t you wear that new housecoat Renie and Bill gave you for Christmas last year? You’ve never taken it out of the box.”

  Gertrude scowled. “I was saving it for something special—like my funeral. But I’ll bet Vivian’s going to put on a real good party. The housecoat’s in the bottom drawer of my bureau.”

  Dutifully, Judith went into the small bedroom next to the small living room and the even smaller kitchenette. The gift box wasn’t in the bottom drawer—or anywhere in the bureau. She finally found it under the bed. Collecting rouge, lipstick, and a pair of blue rhinestone earrings that would go well with the blue, green, and yellow floral housecoat, she asked her mother if she needed help getting dressed.

  “I can still do that myself, you nitwit,” Gertrude rasped. “It might take me an hour or so, but I can manage just fine. You look like you better spend a while getting yourself together. Where’d you find that ugly sundress? It looks like it fell off the back of a garbage truck.”

  Judith had bought the simple red-and-white cotton sheath at Nordquist’s on sale, a relative bargain at ninety dollars. Ignoring her mother’s barb, she told her to be ready by six-thirty, smiled thinly, and left the toolshed.

  The schoolhouse clock’s hands stood at five-thirty. The appetizers were ready for the B&B’s social hour, but one party of guests had yet to arrive. Ironically, it was the Oklahoma Busses. Judith wondered if they’d stopped first at Herself’s house.

  Forty-five minutes later, she was checking on the three-bean salad she’d made for the Block Watch potluck when the doorbell rang. A tall, lean, gray-haired man and a short, plump dumpling of a woman with six pieces of luggage awaited her welcome.

  “We’re the Busses,” the woman announced in a soft, slightly southern voice somewhere between a drawl and a twang.

  Judith introduced herself and ushered the couple inside. “Welcome to Hillside Manor. You’re in Room Five. You share a bathroom with Room Six, though there is another bathroom you can use off the hallway between your room and Room Four. The social hour has already begun, but I’m sure you want to get settled. Here’s the registration….” She paused, realizing that the Busses had left their luggage on the porch. “Uh…wouldn’t you like to bring your suitcases inside?”

  Marva Lou Buss frowned. “Is there a lot of crime aroun
d here?”

  “No,” Judith replied, unwilling to admit to the occasional corpse she found in or around the premises. “This neighborhood is very quiet.” A sharp noise not unlike a gunshot suddenly rang out. “Usually,” she added, going to the open front door. Billy Buss was standing on the curb in front of his house, holding aloft what looked like a six-shooter.

  “Ya-ha!” he shouted. “It’s party time!”

  “Sounds like Billy,” Frankie Buss murmured to Marva Lou. “We’d best hightail it over there to howdy-do him.” He loped out of the house.

  “Frankie’s all het up to have a sit-down with Billy,” Marva Lou said to Judith. “I’ll leave the bags on the porch till he gets back.”

  Judith was still looking outside. The sawhorses were in place at the entrance to the cul-de-sac, the Rankers had set up their trestle table and folding chairs, Jeanne Ericson was unloading paper plates and plastic tableware from a big carton, Naomi Stein carefully placed slices of corned beef and pastrami on a platter, Rochelle Porter was putting the final touches to a lazy Susan loaded with fresh fruits and vegetables that her husband, Gabe, had brought from his produce company, and Hamish Stein was helping Ted Ericson set up the beverages. Just a few yards away, on the other side of the open area, Judith saw Vivian in a slithery silver gown with a slit skirt. She was supervising two white-coated waiters and three nubile young women in abbreviated maids’ costumes. Billy and Frankie Buss stood off to one side, where a small bandstand had been set up. Judith felt as if she were watching a war zone with the enemies preparing for battle.

  “What the hell was that?” Joe shouted, coming through the dining room into the entry hall. He saw Marva Lou and stopped short. “Oh! Sorry.” He gave an imitation of his most engaging grin to the newly arrived guest. “That sounded like a shot, but of course it must have been…?” He transferred his questioning gaze to Judith.

  “Billy Buss,” Judith said, speaking rapidly lest Joe interrupt with a tactless remark in front of Billy’s sister-in-law as well as a couple from Iowa who’d left the social gathering in the living room, apparently to ask about the loud noise. “This is Billy’s brother’s wife, Marva Lou. They just arrived.” Judith smiled at the curious Iowans under the archway between the living room and the entrance hall. “The neighbors are celebrating their recent move from Florida. No need for alarm.”